Wednesday, December 12, 2012
We have all been there at one time in our life- drank too much on a Friday night to the point where you are absolutely out of commission the next day. And that day was probably either when you were in college or on your twenty-first birthday, right? Well, not for Erin! I still apparently think I can party like its 1999. And party I did on Friday night! Instead of “Who Else But Erin?” I should have been asking myself, “Who do I think I am?”
The night started off simple with dinner at Sugarfish with Anthony, where we had sushi and sake. So far, so good. Next, we met our friends, Ray and Nicole, at El Cholo where my first of many bad decisions that night took place. I thought it was fine to order a skinny margarita and a shot of tequila- apparently I packed my balls in my purse that night as well. Then we went to visit our friend Jeff at Rock’N Fish at LA Live, who was bartending that night. I took a seat, took out my wallet and my balls and ordered a vodka based gingerbread martini. Even drunk that drink sounds disgusting, but I thought-‘tis the season! To sum it up, my gingerbread martini tasted like grandma in a glass. It was as warm as cookies on a snowy day but tasted a little fragrant like perfume….grandma in a glass! As my boyfriend told me the next morning (while he was seeing me at my absolute worst), “you should have stopped there, Erin. You should have stopped there.” Stopped? Stopping is for losers, right? So, I ordered a crazy ass rum drink that was larger than life and is making me gag in my mouth right now thinking about it. Needless to say, I danced my ass off at Ray and Nicole’s house afterwards, gave her a big smooch and don’t remember stumbling home that night.
The next morning, I awoke next to Anthony (thank God, right?) with a splitting headache and no recollection of how I got there. And yes, I am 31 years old. Mom, you can stop shaking your head now- we walked home… I may be an idiot sometimes, but I do follow the rules. When I walked out to the kitchen to get a drink of water, I followed the path of clothes that led from the door to the bed. In Anthony’s house, you have to take your shoes off at the door and we both have a pair of flip flops that we are allowed to wear inside. As I mentioned in prior posts, my boyfriend has a touch of OCD. I was shocked when I saw that his flip flops were still at the door, which means (and it didn’t take Scooby Doo to figure this one out) that he violated his own rules and walked to his bed….BAREFOOT! I then saw one of his socks, a broken shot glass by the fridge (huh?) my jeans (inside out but sitting on the ground neatly like I floated out of them), my ring and my necklace. I at least had the respect to put on my 'inside' shoes (who cares if they were on the wrong feet) and walk to bed last night. I scarfed down four aspirin, chugged some water and went back to bed, feeling like I just got ran over by a reindeer…damn you, grandma!
After having a hilarious, nonsense filled conversation with Anthony about Snoopy’s best friend, Woodstock (Anthony was convinced his name was Tutu) I began to feel a little queasy. My first thought was, maybe I should eat something. So, I drank a glass of almond milk and had a handful of gingerbread men cookies. One would think I would have avoided gingerbread altogether after last night but apparently I wasn’t that smart. A few minutes later, I felt better and as I was telling Anthony that the gingerbread were doing a happy dance in my stomach, they took a left turn at my liver and headed straight up the esophagus. BARRRRFFFF! Well, at least I felt a tad better now. And because I was feeling a TAD better, Anthony thought I needed pozole, a Mexican soup that cures hangovers but doesn’t have tripe in it like menudo. And this amazing pozole was in the Valley- ugg! But because I thought it would help, we got in my car (yes, I drove…again, I must have packed my balls) and started driving.
Just as we were pulling out of the parking garage, I took a bite of my banana, which I thought would be good for my stomach, and just as fast as it went down, it was on its way up. I pulled over quickly and puked outside of Subway sandwich shop. Again, I am 31 years old. Ok, now I was better. To the Valley we go! We finally get there and as we are searching for parking outside the Mexican restaurant, I felt some more churning in my tummy. There was nothing left but bile in there, but apparently it needed to exit my body at that very moment, in the 7-Eleven parking lot. Yup, 31 years old. I should having given up right then and there and chalked it up on the blackboard as Erin 0, Alcohol 1 but I continued to make my way into the Mexican restaurant, order the soup and tried to eat it. It got the best of me though, and I told Anthony to get it to go as I darted outside to my car, sat in the driver’s side, and puked out the door as people on the streets and my boyfriend watched. 31 years old.
After a long, uneasy ride home, I spent the next 8 hours on the couch watching Duck Dynasty in my PJ’s. What did we learn here, kids? Don’t drink! Or if you do drink, leave your balls at home. And if you do happen to bring your balls? Don’t order the gingerbread martini!
Friday, December 7, 2012
When she was younger, she was on a youth soccer team and her coach was a little overweight. One day, she went up to her, put her hand on her coach's belly and asked, "are you pregnant?" When her coach embarrassingly said no, Aisley answered, "are you sure?"
My mom can't swim even though she took all three of us girls to swimming lessons at the YWCA when we were babies and my parents have had a pool since 1989. Usually, she just wades in the shallow end or watches her grandkids swim. One summer, Aisley put swimmies on her arms, made her wear a swim cap, handed her a kick board and an inner tube, pushed her in the deep end and said, "you've got to learn sometime!"
My dad graciously waits for Aisley to get off the bus everyday after school at 3:15 pm sharp. Instead of welcoming her grandfather with a big hug, she throws her backpack at him and says, "do your job!" and makes him carry it up the driveway.
And her Christmas list this year? After scanning through the normal, Operation board game, fortune cookie maker and Nerf disc shooter, I come across #16. Fuzzy black handcuffs. I died. I literally died. I called my sister for an explanation and she said, she had no idea why she wanted them but Aisley told her to make sure they don't hurt her wrists. Who else but Aisley?
Thursday, November 29, 2012
I am usually overly prepared for any celebrity interview I conduct for Starpulse down to the point of studying facts about their life and career and coming up with obscure questions that will make them laugh and remember who I am- a true professional. But every professional screws up sometimes. Here's the story of my little hiccup and how I bounced back like a champ.
My Starpulse colleague texted me last year around Christmas time asking if I could cover an interview for her. No problem I said, who will I be chatting with? Her response: Howie Day (well at least that is what I read via her text message). Great, I loved Howie Day! He was an amazing singer, liked life on the edge (he supposedly dated Britney Spears after the two met in rehab) and was even from Maine- I would have loads to talk with him about. I told her I would handle it, got the name of his publicist and began my intense research on Howie Day, from here on just referred to as 'Howie.' Howie's publicist called me and said we would be meeting at Starbucks at 5:00 pm that Friday, where I would conduct the interview and even get a few pictures with him. I was getting excited about the interview, had all my questions ready and even had a fantasy that we would meet, connect on the Maine thing and become best friends.
The day of the interview, I drove to the Sherman Oaks Starbucks where we agreed to meet, as giddy as a school girl. (What does that expression even mean, anyways?) I walked in, ordered a latte and sat down as I didn't see Howie inside yet. I waited and waited and still nothing. At about 10 minutes past 5:00, a girl and a guy walked in, both of whom I didn't recognize, so I naturally just looked away and kept waiting. Until the two came up to me and asked if I was Erin. I was confused but confirmed my identity with the strangers. The girl apologized for being late and introduced me to 'Howie', standing by her side. Howie? Howie who? The girl then asked if it was okay to do the interview out on the deck where we had a little more privacy. I had no idea who this elusive Howie character was but followed the two outside. My mind was racing at this point! Who was this guy and what the hell was I going to ask him? I had all my questions prepared for Howie Day and unless he lost 15 lbs, shrunk a few inches and had major reconstructive surgery, this was not him. I was going to have to pull something out of my butt and handle this interview smoothly. Maybe I can start out with a few generic questions about who his influences are, what his Christmas plans were and what's up next for him and I would figure out by then who he was.
As we sat down, I looked at him closely and did recognize him a bit, but from where? Was this Howie Day? I thought I would throw a Maine reference out there right away, to see if he caught it, or batted it away. I think I said something like, "it's a bit chilly outside, but not as chilly as Maine!" Wait for it, wait for it.....his response: "That's true, it gets a bit chilly in Florida too, where I am from." Dammit, plan failed. Now what? Generic question #1 failed as well and just when I started to feel a sweat bead roll down my forehead, he threw me the biggest puzzle piece ever, and I solved the mystery with two words. Backstreet Boys. Ding, ding, ding- light bulb...it was Howie D. from the Backstreet Boys. Although I felt like the biggest idiot, I finished the very successful interview, got my picture with the former boy-bander and drove away with a great story to tell. And sweat stains the size of Russia.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Anytime I get frustrated with my car (often), like when she decides to take 10 minutes to start in the morning when it’s cold, or when an interior light magically stops working, I think back to the days of my first car and it all seems okay. When I was 16, I bought a black Ford Escort with $500 cash that I called ‘Essie the Scort’ or John (after John Travolta, whose picture was taped to the dash…by choice). It was my first car so I absolutely loved it. I loved the freedom, I loved the independence and now, I love looking back at my experience with Essie aka John.
First of all, my Escort was a stick shift, which was fine considering I learned to drive on one and every car I have owned since then has been a stick, but I have to admit, the first few months driving a stick are really hard, especially in an old car. I remember running through countless yellow lights because I didn’t want to stop, or rolling through practically every stop sign so I didn’t have to use that dreaded clutch. The worst was when I actually did get stuck at a red light, on a hill. I remember sweating buckets and praying no one would pull up behind me so I wouldn’t roll back and nail them once the light turned green.
Secondly, as time went by, my 1987 Ford seemed to shed some of its features that were necessities in a vehicle. For instance, one day the radio just stopped working. No worries, I had a solution for this. I loaded my boom box up with those massive D batteries and stuck it in the back seat. Now I had a CD player, a radio and a tape deck. I would just have to reach back and change the music or ask my friend who needed a ride that day to be the backseat DJ. Then my automatic seat belts stop working. Remember those things? When you opened the door, the seat belt would slide from the front of the door to the back to secure you in? Well mine just stayed in the unsecured position and made it a tad uncomfortable to drive. Next up to fail? The actual driver’s side door. It just didn’t want to open, so I had to crawl over the center console and into my passenger seat to get out of the car. Lovely! Speaking of center console, the best was when both of my window cranks fell off and needed to be stored in the center console until either myself of my passenger got hot and needed to roll down the window. “Hey, can you pass me a window crank so I can get some air up in here? Thanks!”
My favorite part about good ol’ Essie the Scort was the day I decided to get rid of her. My dad suggested that I bring it down to the junk yard to see if I could sell her for parts. Maybe the parts that were kept in the center console! I drove her down to the sad looking junk yard, the death ground for old cars, not wanting to say goodbye but also excited because I had a sweet Plymouth Laser waiting for me at home and spoke to the man in charge. He looked her over, spoke with my dad a bit, then turned to me and said, “I’ll give you $40 bucks….” I looked and my dad, then at my sad, little Escort and replied, “You’ve got yourself a deal!”
Friday, November 9, 2012
For the most part, I am a very healthy girl who tries to maintain a ‘Schmegan’ lifestyle (vegan most days but I am not opposed to meat either- strange, I know) and works out at least five days a week. But I love food and enjoy eating and have daily fights with my inner fat kid. Like, I see a bowl of peanut M&Ms and my skinny side looks the other way, while my fatty bo-batty side grabs my hair and jams my hand into the bowl in into my mouth. I usually lose against my inner fat kid, hence working out at least five days a week. But even though I am in shape, I have always had a knack for eating and some may even call it a talent. My best friend, Alicia used to tell me that I should enter eating contests and she would bet money on me and clean up because people wouldn’t expect me to pack it in. I have been known to eat a foot long Subway, a family size bag of chips (from the grocery store, not the dinky ones at Subway…I don’t mess around, kids!) a few cookies and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Completely turned on, aren’t you fellas? When I go home for the holidays, my family calls me either the garbage disposal or the endless pit as I binge until I pass out, like I have never seen food in my life. Ever since I was a kid, I have been known to love all kinds of food (I think I was four when I had my first Whopper at Burger King- and finished it) and my mom even used to give me giant pickles to eat when I was a baby.
But I think I may have met my match and have bitten off more than I can chew, literally. A few blocks away from my work, there’s a sandwich shop owned by actor Jerry Ferrara called Fat Sal’s. They have a sandwich (actual picture above) that is available to order for their food challenge only for a mere price of $49.95. It consists of cheesesteak, cheese burgers, pastrami, chicken fingers, bacon, mozzarella sticks, fried eggs, jalapeno poppers, fries, onion rings, chili and marinara sauce on a 27 inch garlic hero. If you can finish the burger in 40 minutes or less, the sandwich is free and you get to name your own “fat sandwich.” Mine would obviously be called “Dumps like a truck” and be 100% Schmegan. So, last year I told my co-workers I could do it (before I saw the picture and only if I could throw it up afterwards) and now it is on the company calendar for December 7th. I am either going to put in my two weeks now, or change my identity- pronto!
Friday, November 2, 2012
I am sure you have heard of the ‘Horse Whisperer’ and the ‘Dog Whisperer’, but ‘Homeless Whisperer?’ Yup, only Erin. It is always weird in LA when you see someone you know in an obscure place (it has happened to me countless of times) solidifying the saying, “it is such a small world.” But when you have seen more than a handful of homeless people in different parts of the cities, a few years apart in some cases, you start to wonder what the heck is going on.
About five years ago, I worked at Peet’s Coffee on Sunset Blvd in Hollywood and a homeless man by the name of Michael used to come in all the time for some water and an occasional cup of coffee. He was very nice and always talked to the staff, so I never forgot him. Cut to 2012, and I find myself working in Westwood near UCLA. For those non-LA’ers, it’s not very close to Hollywood (especially if you are pushing a shopping cart). One day, I see Michael in the village walking around with his cart, whistling away. I felt like I saw an old buddy and I think I waved. He looked at me like I was crazy, and that says a lot coming from a homeless person.
Earlier this year, there was a homeless person that used to hang out near the library next to my office building toting around more luggage than even a regular person has belongings. Seriously- this lady had about twenty five rolling suit cases lined up along Glendon Ave. It looked like a Samsonite convention! I would see her every day when I drove to work; sometimes she would be in a trash bag dress, other times in a bright pink sweat suit. But I was never surprised to see her plentiful outfits considering how much baggage she had. One day, out of the blue, her and all her stuff were gone. Odd. Very odd. Did she move during the night? Did someone abduct her? Was she a figment of my imagination? I was worried for about a week and then I moved on with my life. A few months later I was walking on Pico Blvd (about 3 miles from where she used to reside) when I saw her on the sidewalk waiting for the bus! I smiled (knowing she wasn’t abducted) then went on to ponder how the hell she moved all her stuff!
My last repeat sighting just occurred this week. A few days before Halloween, I saw this guy wearing a SpongeBob Square pants outfit on Wilshire Blvd close to my office building and I assumed it was a Halloween costume. I think I even beeped and gave him a “thumbs up.” It was rather hilarious. It was hilarious that is until I saw the same exact guy in the same exact SpongeBob Square pants outfit in Culver City a few days after Halloween, sitting on the sidewalk looking very homeless. Should I have my own show on TLC? Move over Long Island Medium, here comes Los Angeles Homeless Whisperer.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
There are certain occupations that as much as they are valid, admirable jobs, it is rare that you come across people in life who have those certain jobs. Hence, I always say that those occupations are not real jobs (only in the “what I want to be when I grow up” books). For instance- pilots, astronauts, cobblers, lifeguards, blacksmiths and park rangers. Well, I definitely changed my mind one day on a hike at Griffith Park. I used to frequent the park after work and hike for about an hour, just before the sun went down. It was beautiful, scenic and an amazing calorie burner. One day after I parked my car, I went into my trunk to get my iPod and my phone, shut it, and realized that my keys were locked in my trunk. Due to a drunken night a few years back and my lack of extra funds to pay almost $200 to get a spare key made (damn you Volkswagen) I only had one key, and of course I didn’t have AAA at this moment. I panicked for a minute, thought about just going on the hike and dealing with it later, then decided to go ask for help. I stumbled upon a Park Ranger station (sans Yogi and Booboo Bear) and found a few of the rangers washing their truck. I told them about my situation and one of them decided he would help me out. I mean, what else where they busy with? Confiscating picnic baskets from bears? He met me at my car, pulled out his tools and attempted to unlock my car door. After about an hour, his hand was getting sore and we were running out of things to talk about. This better work, I had no other options! Just when the Park Ranger was about to give up- pop! Jorja decided to be on my side for once and allow the nice Park Ranger to unlock her door. Success! And now I know, ‘Yes Erin, there is a Park Ranger!’
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Like most people, my skin is sensitive, uneven in some spots and loves to turn red when I am working out, hot or embarrassed. That is why, my friends, I am obsessed with sunless tanning. Not only does it make my skin glow, but I feel skinnier because tan fat is better than white fat. Even with all of those stated ‘ups’, it does unfortunately have its ‘downs’ as well. My boyfriend has a white duvet comforter and since I sleep over his house practically every night, I am forced to wash it at about once a week because my bronzer loves to rub off while I sleep. I try to reckon with him and say, “wouldn’t you rather have a hot, tan girlfriend?” He usually says he would rather have a clean white comforter. Ugggg! Another down? The act of actually going into the freezing cold booth (I swear I immediately have to pee every time) and getting sprayed. I try and take all the precautions though, to be safe, and make sure I don’t ingest the DHA in the sunless tanning solution. I even put nose plugs and ear plugs in and hold my breath the ENTIRE time, leaving me very woozy but with iron lungs. When asked why I feel the need to tan, my answer is usually “my boyfriend is Puerto Rican and my roommate is black, I have to keep up somehow!”
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Testicles, spectacles, wallet and watch- check! Guys, you are ready to head out the door...and for the ladies- wallet, cell phone, lip gloss, compact, gum, flask? Yup, that's right, flask! Not that I take it everywhere I go- hello AA! But I do like to pinch some pennies and save a few bucks when I can by providing my own alcohol in certain situations. Like at the movies, or Hollywood clubs, or Stagecoach, or the LA Fair, or just about anywhere that could be more fun when fueled with alcohol and when I don't have to drive. The best part about smuggling a flask anywhere is that moment when you know you got away with it (Beth and I even have a little dance we do once we cross into the safety zone). The worst part? Actually smuggling it in. Last year, I bought a disposable flask for my boyfriend and it was probably the best purchase I have ever made. So, I bought one for myself and made my friend Beth get one too. It's a silver, fold-able and undetectable (no metal) flask that fits anywhere! You can put it in your boot, your hat, your purse and even your pants (causing you to have a little bit of a gut, but it's an instantly removable gut nonetheless). The last two years when Beth and I went to Stagecoach (the country music version of Coachella) we managed to smuggle the flasks through the intense purse search/pat down/metal detector entrance to the festival by shoving these wonders down our pants or in between our boobs. Call us crazy but we saved about $50 each that weekend! The only shameful part about smuggling flasks is when you forgot it was in your purse from the night before and you get to work and see it next to your work keys at 7:00 am....oops! Yes, that has happened to me.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
something really dangerous and risky. For weeks I had been scoping out the situation after work with no luck in scoring the perfect opportunity. Until yesterday that is...I got home from work and saw a bright light shining upon the magic parking spot as the hose seemed to be glistening in the sun, beckoning me to come play. I quickly spun my car around, parked her and got out, clad in my nice work skirt and heels. I quickly jumped up on the lawn of my neighboring apartment building, turned on the faucet and washed my car so quick that Flash Gordon would have been proud. Quick maybe, but efficient, definitely not. Unfortunately my neighbor didn't supply the soap so I really just gave Jorja a good rinse (looking at her today though, she should probably be actually washed). But it made me smile, having executed my stealth plan. Case closed and hopefully a real car wash is open nearby.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
I absolutely adore my family and while I was home in Maine last week we all went to Monkey C Monkey Do in Wiscasset to explore our adventurous side. The outdoor tree house like obstacle course offered various levels of difficulty, zip lines, a bungee jump-esque swing in the middle of the course and hours of fun for my family. Since I was in town from Los Angeles and didn't pack my sneakers in my carry-on luggage (all I usually do at home is eat, sleep and relax therefore working out is not on my vacation agenda), I had to borrow my brother-in-law's shoes so I could play on the course. Although it was generous of him to offer up his old pair for me to borrow, they were reminiscent of clown shoes on my feet, making the tightrope a bit awkward for me to walk on and funny to the crowd below (I must have looked like an act at the circus). Big feet aside, I watched as my 8 year old niece bravely took on the bungee jump swing as she plummeted 50 feet down, not even making a peep. I thought, if she can do it then it must not be that scary, right? Hell freaking no! I tried to remain calm walking up on that high wooden platform into the loving harness of Bill the manager of the course but I immediately started to shake. I find that as I get older, roller coasters, water parks and heights are a lot harder for me to take than when I was a kid. I now applaud my parents for toting us around when we were younger to various amusements parks all over the east coast keeping their composure while we enjoyed ourselves, probably terrified inside. But I couldn't back down now, that's just not my style- and my niece jumped with such ease! As my entire family looked on, I sat down on the platform, nervously waiting as Bill harnessed me in securely and lost about fifteen shades of tan (you see what I did there?) in my face. As my breathing increased and I began having heart palpitations, I kept repeating the phrase "Keep Calm and Carry On" over and over again in my head. Bill moved his arm over to the side of the platform and told me to lean into it to begin my jump. I looked at him like he was crazy, "but there's nothing below your arm and I know you won't be catching me, I'm just going to fall!" He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Well, yeah- you wanted to do the bungee jump swing, right?" I know, I know but I didn't realize who scary it was! How the hell did my niece do it without screaming? How the hell did all the kids before her do it without screaming? Why am I the oldest one to attempt to conquer this thing today? So many questions, so little time! I looked Bill dead in the eyes and asked him if anyone had ever peed their pants while jumping. He told me no, or at least no one had admitted it. I told him a may the the first and that if I did happen to pee a little, I would like a dry pair of pants and a new harness. He laughed and told me to lean into his hand again and fall. I felt like I was going to die and as my family cheered me on, I thought, screw it! I made it all the way up to this small wooden platform and there's only one way dooooooownnnnnn! As I leaned into Bill's arm, my entire stomach came up into my throat and I began to scream. And I didn't stop screaming until I was on the ladder in the safe zone, getting my harness removed. Once I was safely on the ground, Bill yelled down to me, "Are you dry?" I checked my pants to feel for some wetness and surprisingly I was in the clear. Proudly, I responded "I didn't pee, Bill!" Lesson for the day? This Monkey Saw and this Monkey will never Do again.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
As I looked into the eyes of the helpless little skunk, my heart sank. His arm was tangled so bad in the net that unless we had a tranquilizer gun (trust me, I asked my nephew if he did, to which I just got a snicker) I would have to hold down the stinky, rabid skunk. What was I getting myself into? At this point, my pride was the only thing keeping me going. So, I thought I would try to talk to the skunk, human to animal, eye to eye, person trying to save a life to animal that will die. I adjusted my tone a bit, as if I was talking to a baby and started my pep talk. "Hi little guy, it's okay, I'm on your side. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm your friend! Don't spray me buddy, I'm good!" Wishing that he would just give me a thumbs up and sit like a good pet, he made eye contact and did the exact opposite. He turned around and proudly lifted his tail in my direction, aimed and ready to fire. I ran as fast as I could behind the closest tree to dodge the bullet. Now I was trapped. I tried to reason with him again and even warned him that if he didn't listen to me, he was going to have to face my nephew and/or dad but he kept that tail straight up, aimed at me. Frustrated and feeling betrayed, I made my way through the woods, around the batting cage, back into my sister's house. Now I was angry, screaming back at the skunk, "I tried to help you, skunk! I tried but you wouldn't listen!"
I won't tell you what happened next because I didn't even want to know, but I will say that I resented this little guy for not trusting me- Erin Demchak! I wouldn't hurt a fly! But I also wouldn't risk getting sprayed by a skunk, so maybe I should take the blame. I'll never look at Pepe Le Pew the same again.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
I have seen my share of crazy things in Los Angeles, like ‘Charlie Chaplin’ waiting for the city bus, a woman hiking in a bikini and a guy carrying a tiny Yorkie in a Baby Bjorn, but there were a few things that I experienced this weekend that were not only crazy but a few firsts for me. Now, this may sound crazy, but I have never been to Costco. Never. Not in Maine and not in Los Angeles. My boyfriend took me this weekend and I couldn’t help but laugh as I felt like Mario from Super Mario Brothers in ‘Giant World’ stumbling through this mad house of giant pancake mix, brand name jeans, mattresses, huge boxes of Splenda, rugs and the biggest shampoo bottles I have ever seen. I was blown away by the store and by the restaurant directly outside the entrance that was perhaps busier than the store itself. And I am not going to lie but the pizza looked amazing! Why didn’t they have this when I was a kid? I would’ve loved to take a little trip with my parents to Costco to get diapers for life and a large pizza pie…what a great idea!
Then we went to have some breakfast at Los Feliz Café where a pack of decked out, hardcore, cyclists sat next to us outside. But they weren’t just any cyclists- they were all Mexicans. It isn’t every day that you see cyclists who are Mexicans- and not Harley Davidson cyclists, mountain bike cyclists. We both thought that was a tad odd. As we headed back downtown, I was full from my omelet and ready to crash on the couch and watch some Olympics. But as we turned the corner onto 7th Street, I couldn’t help but notice a tiny, old, dirty homeless woman screaming at the top of her lungs at everyone else on the street around her. And then it happened. She took that dingy white t-shirt that was hanging on her small frame and lifted it up over her head. What was she wearing underneath, you ask? Absolutely nothing! Of course, Anthony missed it- thank goodness for him! But for me, that image is branded in my brain unfortunately. As much as I love L.A., I can’t wait to get home to Maine next week!
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
It’s tough in L.A. when you are one of the only chicks who doesn’t drive a Lexus, or a Range Rover, or a BMW, or anything bright, shiny and expensive for that matter. But I was perfectly happy with my little white Jetta named Jorja (after Bret Micheal’s daughter….yes, I know, I know) until she started acting up on me a few months ago. The flat tires weren’t her fault and I never blamed her, those were caused by the bumpy L.A. streets and the pot holes that litter the roads. But anything that goes wrong inside the car, I blame Jorja. Obviously. So when my blinker just started blinked like it was going out of style, I was a little confused and a lot annoyed. You know that sound that you hear when you turn on your blinker? Yup, that’s the sound I hear randomly whenever Jorja wants me to. It comes out of the center console of the car and rocks out to its own beat. I have tried punching it, turning up my radio (thanks, Pop for that tip) and even avoiding using my blinker altogether. Nothing stopped it. It’s like I had that little frog from the Looney Tunes who sang “Hello my lady, hello my darling…..” living in my dashboard and he only came out in his little tap shoes to dance when he didn’t think I was looking. He will definitely hide when I take Jorja into the body shop and try to explain this elusive blinker sound coming from the center console of my car to the mechanic. I can hear him now, “Are you crazy Mama-cita?” So what’s the use? I will just turn up the radio and ignore that I have a constant blinker sound coming out of the dash…or just stop making turns altogether. I wonder how far that would get me? Thanks Jorja!
Friday, August 3, 2012
Today, I thought I would write about a past experience I had last summer, which was one of the most embarrassing/hilarious moments of my life. After getting three flat tires in a span of five months, I thought I was out of the clear until I was at least forty years old or so- I mean who really gets that many flats? (Answer- Who Else But Erin?)
So, I was driving home from work last summer, I think it was a Friday, so I was in a good mood- ready for the weekend to start! When I rolled onto Hayworth Ave, I decided to park in front of my building instead of in the parking garage, because as my roommate Mary knows, it was like Austin Powers trying to get in and out of our spots in that damn garage.
When I parked my car, I heard an unmistakably horrific sound- the air shooting out of my tire at record speed- just gushing out. I didn’t know what to do because there was no way I could stop it, it was happening so fast! I thought about stuffing my bubble gum in the whole but then realized that I wasn’t a cartoon- so I called my dad. When in doubt, call Pop- it’s a great motto. As I suspected he couldn’t help me because in his words, “Erin, what would you like me to do? I am in Maine and you are in California!” Hmmm, I knew that obviously but there is just something comforting about your father’s voice in situations like that. I may be a girly girl, but that doesn’t mean this chick doesn’t know how to change a flat- the only problem was the spare in my trunk was already flat due to my previous incidents. And of course I didn’t have AAA (I believe I signed up that night). So I got on the phone and called Anthony, Mary and Beth…the body shop down the street closed in an hour and Beth lived the closest to me and was off work, so she was the one who came to my rescue to repair my spare tire. When she got there, I was on the side of the road, my work clothes covered in black smudges, and looking a bit frazzled.
I told her that I just needed her to literally drive me around the corner and then I could take it from there. My plan was for her to drop me and my spare off at the body shop and by the time they repaired it, Mary would be home and could pick me up and I could change the tire- it sounded like a great plan! Except once Beth dropped me off and I handed over the tire to the guys, they patched it so quick, I could still see Beth’s car driving away. I didn’t want to call her back because I hated to be a nuisance and Mary still wouldn’t be home for another hour- I didn’t think it would take that quick to fix a tire at a busy body shop! So, it only seemed logical (since I lived around the corner) to roll the tire (like the kids in the old movies did down the tire tracks with the sticks) back to my car. So, that is exactly what I did- in my work clothes, down Fairfax Ave, in broad daylight. No shame here! Thanks Pop for teaching me how to change a flat tire and thanks mom for telling me there was nothing I couldn’t do. Except I am sure there were things she never thought I actually would…
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
As you can imagine, when I find myself in these crazy situations, I usually have a sidekick there with me, either laughing or experiencing the moment with me. My hilarious bestie, Beth, not only is one of the greatest storytellers I know, but she also, like me, finds herself in situations and sometimes asks herself, “Who Else But Beth?” Since she may appear in my blog more than one time (her and I have an intense rendition of “Shoop” by Salt-n-Pepa that we like to bust out at parties, weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, etc.) I figured that I would share one of my favorite stories that she has ever told me.
Beth and her husband, Kris (also one of the funniest people I have ever met), were at The Counter in Century City for dinner on night. The place is usually packed and that night was no exception as there were screaming children, full tables and hustling waiters doing circles around Beth and Kris as they waited to be seated. Beth had just bought a new pair of adorable strappy wedges and was excited to break them in on date night with her hubby. Once they were seated at the table in the corner behind the column, Kris immediately got occupied by some app on his cell phone as Beth announced that she had to use the restroom.
As Beth began to make her way to the opposite side of the restaurant, weaving her way in and out of the other patrons, she noticed that her shoes were not taking to the floor very well and she began to slip a little with each step. As Beth walked around a certain baby’s high chair (we won’t point any fingers here but let’s just say that a certain mom wasn’t very good at picking up after her baby and there was water and fruit roll-up all over the floor) she began to slide even more and her impromptu “Bambi on Ice” performance at The Counter began.
We have all seen Bambi, correct? Well, picture that scene when he and Thumper take to the ice for the first time and Bambi’s limbs go one way while his body goes another and he can’t regain control as he dramatically crashes, legs sticking out in all directions. Now, picture that but in heels, in a crowded restaurant. Beth’s feet were slipping and sliding all over the slick floor as she was trying to grab onto something to help her with her balance. When she grabbed for a chair, it didn’t stop her, it became a prop in this musical number and went up and over her head as she continued to dance around clumsily. Finally, after what I am sure seemed like a lifetime for Beth, she came to a halt in a half split position, face red, hands clammy and armpits moist with sweat.
Embarrassed and not making eye contact with anyone, she got up and tip toed to the bathroom where she lingered there wondering how she was going to come back out in front of everyone without them noticing that she was the girl who fell. Sneak out a window? Do the Army crawl? Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak? Beat up the girl in the stall next to her, tie her up and steal her clothes? Unfortunately, none of those options were appropriate or available, so she had to put on her big girl face and walk out, acting like nothing happened. She felt the stares and saw the head turns when she came out of the restroom but carefully half marched, half tiptoed her way back to the comforting arms of her husband where for sure she would be consoled. When she sat down at their table, happy to be in the ‘safe zone’ but still mortified, Kris looked up from his phone and said, “Babe, did you see Facebook is down another ten points today?” Yup, out of everyone in the restaurant, the only person who didn’t have the pleasure of seeing “Bambi on Ice” was Beth’s husband. Figures!
Monday, July 30, 2012
Yesterday after a great day with my boyfriend, Anthony, and my friends, Nicole and Ray, in Manhattan Beach (note- there was day drinking involved, which we all know leads to trouble) we headed back downtown for an intense game of Uno and dinner at Yard House. On our walk to the restaurant, along the streets of downtown L.A., where the homeless make their homes and the hooligans come to play, my flip flop broke. After suffering an intense flash of panic and a few yards of scuffling along the sidewalk trying to pull off the “my flip flop is broken but I’m trying to act like nothing is wrong while I ‘glide’ gracefully on the street so my boyfriend won’t notice” look, I decided to let it go…Goodbye my left Dollar Store flip flop, you’ve been so good to me! And thank you my right Dollar Store flip flop for sticking with me until the end. So there I was, a few feet back from the pack, one shoe on, one shoe gone- my brain churning, trying to see if I could pull this off without anyone noticing and hobble into the guaranteed “no shirt, no shoes, no service” restaurant without the host noticing, when my boyfriend turns around, looks at my bare foot disgusted (he has a touch of OCD which I’m sure killed him even more), then looks at me with horror on his face that I am indeed walking downtown, barefoot and yells, “Erin, where is your other flip flop?” I couldn’t lie and I couldn’t deny, so I simply lifted up my bare foot and posed for a picture, which Ray was quick to flash. Then I remembered that I had a pair of flats in my purse- thank God! Although, I wish I would have thought of that earlier and my plan to escape barefoot embarrassment would have gone off without a hitch…Damn you, Dollar Store flip flops!
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Okay, so I am an adventurous girl when it comes to working out and am willing to give anything a shot. I take Cardio Barre classes, have tried yoga, hike almost every weekend, been to my share of hip hop classes and have even done a little pole dance workout. But when I got only a few minutes into my Pop Physique class on Third and Fairfax, I thought I was going to die. Literally, right there on that pink mat, next to the Lulu Lemon clad chick on my left. But die in a good way- with rock hard abs and an ass to kill for. I don’t have any kids, but the pain you endure while kicking and squeezing and lifting in this class is comparable to child birth. I’m sorry to all the mothers out there who are laughing and rolling their eyes at me but it’s the only thing that I can imagine is more painful. And at the end of this class, you don’t get an adorable baby to take home with you- you get sore thighs and stinky armpits. The workout is an hour long and consists of fast paced, high tempo moves that isolate your arms, your legs, your abs and then your booty. You use weights, a small pink ball, a strap and a ballet bar. I highly recommend it for anyone who wants to kick their own butt into shape while listening to great music and is dreaming of a booty like the one on the Pop Physique ads. I’m only two classes in but I’m starting to spend a little more time looking at my backside in the mirror every day, and I like what I see so far! I definitely wouldn’t be able to do the class with anyone I knew though, because I would probably pee my pants laughing so hard at the hip thrusts and awkward positions you find yourself in. I know for sure that if my little sister, Grace, was in the class next to me I would have to add a number four to my “situations when I pee pants” list: 4) Pop Physique.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
First post on my new blog and I’m more excited than the Team Edward fans from Twilight after hearing Kristen Stewart is a cheater!
Last night my girlfriends and I went to Happy Hour at Katsuya in Brentwood for “one drink and one fish” as Lynda put it. Cut to 8:00 pm and we have strawberry jalapeño shots, a bottle of sake and vodka sodas lined up in front of us. Compliments of the handsome bartender of course because technically we were only going to pay for “one drink and one fish,” right Lynda? Suddenly, we were the loudest girls at the bar. I think my Scranton girl, Kim, just wanted to get Andy from The Office’s attention (he was dining nearby) to ask him for a picture. That quickly failed when his daughter fell asleep in his arms and he left with his wife. Kim thought it would be a tad bit rude to interrupt his dinner and say, “Hey ‘Andy,’ can my drunk friend, Erin, hold your baby while I put my arm around you and Lynda snaps a pic for my Facebook page? Come on, I’m from Scranton!” Thank God she realized that was not a good idea or we would’ve ended up on TMZ.
So there we are giggling, boozing and putting the cucumbers from our water on our eyes like we were at a spa, when Kim sees her friend, Stephanie. She turned around and called out to her friend, who didn’t respond. “Stephanie!” She yelled again. The girl, who she was staring at, answered, “I’m not Stephanie but people mistake me for someone else at least once a day. Seriously, I get it all the time.” Kim apologized and turned around, embarrassed and red in the face. Five minutes later Lynda turned around, looked at that same girl and said, “Claire?” I almost peed my pants right there in Katsuya. (Note- for those of you who don’t know me, there are three situations in which I am guaranteed to pee my pants: 1) Sledding, 2) Playing Hide-n-Seek and 3) Participating in a three legged race). After drying the tears from my eyes and telling Lynda that I was not going to turn around and call that girl ‘Melody’ in five minutes, we decided to write and produce that situation for You Tube. That idea snowballed into various other ideas for skits and even talks of starting our own production company. Gotta love drunken chatter!
Stay tuned for that video, friends- it will happen and it will happen on ‘Who Else But Erin?’ Sometimes too much sake not only brings you a bad headache in the morning and an apparent fight with your boyfriend, it brings you creative ideas that could become as big as ‘David After Dentist!’ Fingers crossed.